Poems: Second Series (Dickinson)/The Battle-Field

by Emily Dickinson

IX.

THE BATTLE-FIELD.

THEY dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers goes.

They perished in the seamless grass,—
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face.